Saturday, April 3, 2010

Crushes Rustling Malika 1/30

Crushes 04.01.10

She’s got a James Dean swagger,And the bike to match.Drives a big truckThat she brags is actually used for work,So no, I may not put spinners on it.Her grin details what she knowsShe can make me doIf she so chooses-I trust herBecause her handsAre Steady.She keeps rope and a toolbox in the pickupJust In Case,And her biceps bulge when she liftsThe top of her truck bed-She is more Boy than any boyI have ever met,But she comes in the right package.She knows what it means to move through theWorld in a female body,What it feels like to have toHold your house key between your index and middle fingersWhile walking to your car at nightSo you can go for the eyesIf you Have To…She is my Safe Space;Her torso the wall I rest my cheek againstWhen the world demands more grown-up of meThan I have to give.It’s been over a yearAnd I still get crushed out on herSometimes.Her stone butch wrappingRustles like tissue paperWhen this happens-She’s the gift I’m dying to open.I’m like a childOn Christmas morning-I want to tear into her,See what’s underneath,But she forces me to take my time.She knows I tend to devour things,Ingesting what I love in bites too bigTo swallow-She makes me slow down,Her crooked smileForgiving,Patient,Quietly requesting the same of me-I’m learning.Learning to slide against herInstead of push-To shiver beneath her touch,Feel her exhale against my neck,Smell the desire that rises off her skinIn vapors-Hear her sharp intake of breathWhen my nails meet her back,Watch her face change when it feelsGood,Taste the masculinity that dripsFrom her sweat-She picks me up when I wrap my legs around her waist,And cradles me as though I werePrecious-There is nothingDirtyIn what we do,No matter how kinky we get.There is a reverence in her fingertipsWhen she traces my contours,Grasps the fleshier partsAnd groans,Reveling in the feel ofWoman;Inhales my perfume as though trying toKeep it inside her for future access-I have never been adored quite like this.Just watching her walkIs an aphrodisiac-The way she Takes Up Space,Unapologetic for being here,She’s somehow managed to shrug offThe social conditioning all little girls go through-She is a Boy,Her Gender forcing her SexTo it’s knees,She knows who she is,Defiant in the face of conformity,She is trans-labels-She makes me question mine.My crush rustles likeTissue paperIn a gift bagFilled with“She’s not a girl”-I’ve never been good at keeping secrets-My crushes usually knowWho they areAnd my adoration of herIs public knowledge,A rainbow badge I wear with Pride-Just being seen with herSlams open my closet doorAnd I love her for this.She’s got a James Dean swaggerAnd a bike to match.She keeps rope and a toolbox in the pickupJust In Case,And I trust herBecause her handsAre Steady.